


Strange Arrangements

by FlareWarrior



Series: Kinktober 2017 [14]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Kinda, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Rimming, Robbery, Sex workers, but at least they're safe about it?, dubcon?, everyone is generally doing bad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlareWarrior/pseuds/FlareWarrior
Summary: Sweat is prickling on Harry’s brow by the time his silent alarm goes off.(Or: Harry has more odd habits and a little mix-up turns into the kind of meet-cute you can never, ever tell anyone)





	Strange Arrangements

Sweat is prickling on Harry’s brow by the time his silent alarm goes off. The alarm triggers nothing but a tiny red light. At present the light is on the corner of his vision, secreted as it is on the underside of his nightstand. He deactivates it and relaxes, anticipation aided by alcohol heating his blood and forcing rationality from his grasp. It's a much-needed relaxation.

The house is silent around him, making his breath loud in comparison. Any twitch on the bed creates deafening white noise, so he lies still and breathes shallowly to better hear the click of the balcony door closing.

They've never come in from the balcony before. Either he's brought a ladder or this one will be particularly strong and limber.

His cock gives a particularly demanding throb, thick and solid and pressed between his stomach and the sheets, and he fights to keep from stroking it. He's meant to be asleep, and asleep he will pretend to be.

Harry counts himself as a very patient man, but this robber tries his restraint. Almost inaudible footsteps whisper along the second floor's carpeting. They linger in the office and pause at the top of the stairs for long enough that Harry nearly gets up and drags him to bed.

Harry's lightheaded when the bedroom door creaks open, a product of trying too long to maintain the illusion of sleep rather than pant like a man driven to the brink by anticipation. Skin flushed and burning for contact, the gentle shift of air over his shoulders when the man sneaks closer feels like a caress. Even the brush of cool fingertips along his arm draws a soft moan from his lips.

" _Shit_."

The touch snaps away. The robber's stealth vanishes as he jerks back, one heavy footstep before he knocks into the dresser. Harry whines at the loss, the distance.

"I ain't gonna hurt you."

 _Oh_ , that's good - the agency doesn't hire many working-class boys. Harry doesn't have a fetish, exactly, but, well. He's always liked a bit of rough. Odd choice of character he's gone with, but Harry's aching cock is on board. Yet the robber remains on the other side of the room.

Too many long seconds tick by and Harry shivers. What felt like hours listening to him sneak about the house had driven him to the brink, so that the words sound ripped from him when he whispers: "Take me."

A rush of humiliation follows his plea, one that pushes his estimation of just _how badly_ a person can need to be fucked. Breath shudders out of him, hot and shameful, his heart racing in his chest.

Fuck, but this boy _knows what he's doing_.

" _What_?" the wood of his dresser creeks under the robber's grip. "You don't have to," the boy replies, and there are actual hints of distress in his voice, shaking in soft, roguish syllables.

" _Please_ ," Harry begs, hips shifting lewdly as he seeks friction.

Slowly, the robber creeps to the edge of the bed. A curious touch bushes the neck, catching on the edge of the sheets covering him. It's only force of will that keeps Harry from flipping the robber onto the bed and riding him until neither of them can speak.

The sheet moves hesitantly off his shoulders, flowing down his naked back as the robber draws it away. Harry's fingers clench in his pillow as the silk whispers along the swell of his bare arse, leaving cool air to take its place.

"Oh. Oh my g-" the robber's words cut off with a click of a swallow and a harsh breath. The silk sheets pool on the backs of Harry's thighs, slipped from his robber’s fingers once Harry was on display.

Harry knows he's fit, and that he looks good for his age, but he's still past fifty, still aging, and the fact that the robber's reaction seemed anything but fake makes his stomach do a pleased little flip.

"Are you sure about this?" The robber asks, voice distinctly lower.

" _Yes_."

That seems to be the last bit of encouragement he needs. The robber kicks off his shoes, twin thunks on the floor, then the bed slants under his weight.

"Stay how you are," he orders, at last moving quickly.

Harry spreads his legs as the robber settles between his spread thighs. The move draws a soft " _fuck_ ," from the robber's lips. The touch returns to his neck, and this time fingertips trail down his body leaving paths of fire in their wake. Harry can't tell if it's him or the robber trembling. He moans, arching into the touch like a spoiled cat, desperate and needy.

"Fuckin' hell gov," both hands settle on his arse, broad and firm as they raise and angle his hips, spreading him open. "Gorgeous. Goddamn shame you ain't got someone fuckin' you every night."

"Hurry up," Harry groans, clenching on nothing.

Harry cries out when teeth sink into his arse. He ruts once against too-smooth bedding, finding again that it does nothing.

"Call me Galahad. When you want something to scream." Harry almost laughs at the irony there, until he feels hot breath over his hole. They're not usually this bold, Harry reflects before thought slips from his grasp.

He jerks at the first touch of Galahad's tongue but Galahad holds him in place, relentlessly lapping between his cheeks. Nothing turns Harry into a quivering mess quite as fast as a tongue against his rim or probing inside him. Galahad's tongue seems to know what it's doing.

Harry clutches the pillow in a straining grip as the hot, wet muscle flicks over his hole, alternating between swirling and pressing until his thighs start to shake. He pants, rocking back into the touch for more, harder, _deeper_. Galahad takes his time, heedless of Harry’s rising desperation as he laves teasingly at him, until Harry's moans are loud in the room and his cries have turned to broken gibberish. Then Galahad finally pulls him open further, exposing him to the cool bedroom air, and applies enough force to slide past his rim.

Harry loses his composure, crying out as slithering muscle laps inside him, withdrawing only to do it again. Galahad slides deeper each time, until he's fucking Harry on his tongue and fighting to hold Harry in place for it. Saliva begins to wet Harry’s balls, trickling down in a filthy trail from his arse. Pressure builds in his gut, sparks about to catch fire.

Then Galahad pulls away, and Harry groans in frustration.

"You coulda' come just from that," Galahad observes, tone reverent. He presses a wide thumb where his mouth had been and Harry twitches under the touch. "I gotta be dreamin'."

Galahad presses harder, so that the tip of his thumb pops inside Harry. The stretch sends shivers along Harry's spine, but Galahad doesn't continue. "Where's your lube?"

Harry reaches to get it from the nightstand until a firm hand lands between his shoulder blades and shoves him down into the sheets. Harry's breath leaves him in a rush, another spike of pleasure bubbling up in his gut. Galahad leans over him, lips brushing Harry's ear as he speaks.

"Thought I told you to _stay_ ," he whispers. He places what feels like a thoughtless kiss on Harry's neck, reaching for the nightstand himself. Harry's barely listening, the drag of rough jean and cotton on his hyper-sensitive skin has him fighting not to writhe to make it rub him raw.

Galahad moves off once he has what he's looking for, dropping the lube and a condom beside Harry's spread knees. It's seconds after the cap comes off that broad fingers press against his hole, cool and slick. The first breaches him swiftly, delving in to the second knuckle before slowing to feed him the rest. Harry braces himself and shoves back, delirious with need. Galahad huffs and adds a second, slower, and grips Harry's hip again to keep him still.

He'll have bruises in the morning, Harry’s almost certain now, and he hopes they'll stay a while. Galahad crooks his fingers as he drags them out again and stars dance in Harry's vision. At Harry’s moan he shifts, settling more firmly, and thrusts in over his prostate.

Harry loses track of time, gibbering for more, harder, things he barely hears as Galahad rubs circles against the sweet spot inside him. Harry's weeping cock dampens the sheets under him with smears of pre-come as Galahad milks it from him. Then a third finger joins the others, stretching him a hair shy of too much on wide, sturdy digits.

"Fuck," Galahad says again, withdrawing suddenly and leaving Harry open and bereft. Dizzily Harry registers the sound of a condom wrapper being torn and thinks, _finally_.

Then Galahad is back and coaxing his hips up off the mattress until he's kneeling, arse in the air and face pressed to the pillow. The shift takes away what pressure had been on his cock, heavy and aching as it hangs untouched, and Harry keens.

"Could take me a while," Galahad says, tone playful. "Condom's a little _snug_."

Harry wants nothing more than to get a good look at his cock, but then the head is slipping between his cheeks and he decides feeling is plenty good enough. He edges his knees apart encouragingly.

Galahad spears him open slowly though he's slick with lube and gliding in easily. Harry feels his rim flutter around the intrusion, deliciously thick and deep. They both groan when Galahad bottoms out.

Galahad leans over him, dragging a hand up to twine their fingers together on the mattress.

"Don't _stop_ ," Harry pleads, and it's absolutely a whine.

Laughter huffs against skin, then, "Alright, alright."

Galahad draws out just enough to drive back in. Harry's grip on their joined fingers convulses as Galahad falls into a deep, demanding rhythm.

"Harder," he gasps, again and again until Galahad is pistoning into him hard enough to drive his knees into the mattress on every thrust. He rocks back into it when he’s able but as Galahad's pace increases the best he can do is take what he's given, gasping and pleading on broken sobs while the bed creaks in protest.

He's been toeing the edge all night, but it's not enough, even as he's driven blind with pleasure.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," Galahad warns an age on. By then Harry's well beyond words. He shifts to reach for his cock only to have his wrist caught and pinned above his head.

He's about to beg like he's never begged before when Galahad whispers, "No, let me."

A strong, slick hand wraps around his shaft and Harry whites out on a cry, painting the sheets with streaks of white while Galahad's calloused palm glides over his twitching cock. Galahad gives another thrust, deep and hard, and gasps his own release.

Harry drifts, shuddering and finally spent.

When he comes around a few minutes later he's alone in his bedroom.

 

"I am marvelously pleased with the service. This is the best one you've sent yet - in fact I'd like to request him exclusively from now on."

Harry's thrown on black pants and a shirt he'd left unbuttoned, already at least one sheet to the wind from the whiskey in his decanter and aiming for a second. If he shifts on his couch, he can feel the slick inside him. He's hard pressed to remember the last time he felt this good.

The secretary on the line sounds a bit confused, but he's distracted by a thunk from the foyer before he can ask why.

"Hold on, it seems someone is actually breaking in. No, no, there isn't a burglar alive who could honestly best me."

He sets the phone down, tinny concern ringing from the speaker, and heads for his door.

Harry is not accustomed to having to look up at many people, placing the man just inside his house in an exclusive club. He towers in his dark get-up, burly enough to block the entire hall, his face covered by a ski mask.

"You're a big one, aren't you?" Harry observes, taking another sip of whiskey. He catches sight of his hand as he does and looks curiously at the light band of skin where his signet ring usually rests. Must have come off earlier.

The man hefts a gun in his face. "Bedroom, now."

Harry sets his glass on the hall table, smiling for the fun of unnerving the giant. "I think not."

For such a big man, he goes down rather quickly.

"You're lucky I'm in such a good mood or I'd break your arm." Harry says from his perch on the man’s hips. "Now, you're going to tell me who sent you."

"What- ow! You did!"

Harry twists the arm in his hands a little more, drawing another yelp. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm with the agency!"

"Nonsense. The agency lad has already been by."

"Check my pocket, I'm with the agency, I swear."

Harry frowns. He pokes the gun with his bare toe and...it's not real. A wonderful replica of a Browning 9mm, but far too light to actually be one. A quick rummage in the man's pocket turns up a card for the agency with a forgettable name and number on the back.

"Bugger," Harry tells the card.

 

Two days later there's a knock on Harry's door. On the other side he finds Eggsy Unwin.

"Good morning, Eggsy," he greets, smiling. Eggsy's green eyes dance a bit at the greeting, but only a bit.

Usually his young neighbor shifts and fidgets, can't remain in one place longer than a few moments. Not so this morning. Eggsy is oddly still, hands shoved in his pockets, gaze fixed on Harry's face.

Harry ignores this data because he's decently sure Eggsy is the furthest thing from a threat for at least three boroughs. He's sweet, and kind, and pretends not to feed the strays on the block even though he's added kibble to his weekly shopping list. His little sister is the center of his universe. In short, Eggsy is the gentlest creature Harry has ever encountered.

The robbery has somewhat proven him wrong about the threat part of his assessment, but otherwise his impression of Eggsy remains intact.

"Hey mister 'art." Eggsy greets. "Not to be cliché or nothin', but would you mind if I borrowed some sugar? Ran out bakin' Daisy's cake."

"Of course," Harry ushers Eggsy through into the foyer, then on into the kitchen. "Take as much as you need."

Eggsy scoops up enough sugar to half fill a sandwich bag and tucks it into the pocket of his hoodie. “Thanks,” he says, pursing his lips. He looks at Harry from under his lashes. "Are you alright?" Harry blinks, and Eggsy continues before he can reply. "You look a little tired. Not that you don't look fantastic, I just mean," Eggsy bites his lip, flushing.

Harry chuckles, admiring the bright new color on his cheeks. "I'm getting old, I fear. Paying the price for a bit of fun."

Eggsy searches his face for another moment. Then he drops his eyes and fidgets with his snapback. "I should get back and finish the cake."

"Of course," Harry demurs.

Harry walks him to the door, where Eggsy lingers on the step. He looks like he wants to say something, but his expression pinches and he turns away.

"Later Harry."

He hooks his fingers in the collar of Eggsy's hoodie. "Ah, ah, not so fast." Harry draws near and plasters himself to Eggsy's back. The boy goes stock still, petrified, and Harry is a terrible man for enjoying it. But all he does is fish his signet ring out of Eggsy's pocket and hold it up so they can both see it. "Next time," he murmurs into Eggsy's ear, "return it the way you took it."

Harry leaves him standing frozen and wide-eyed in the little street, unable to keep the grin off his own face. It lasts the whole while as he strides up his stairs to call Merlin and inform him he's found the ring.

Then he pushes open the door to his office and finds Eggsy perched on his balcony railing, waiting for him.

"How did you-?"

"I like you." Eggsy says, hopping off the railing and drifting through the French doors. "I'm sorry I broke into your house. My idiot dog ate the remote and cost me two hundred pounds last week. Didn't even have enough to buy cake mix. I was just gonna take somethin' and put it back before you noticed."

He steps up into Harry's space, his eyes tight like he half expects a punch but shining with hope nonetheless. "I been wantin' to do this for forever, and you seem to like it when other people take charge so I hope you don't mind."

With that Eggsy leans up and captures his lips. Harry freezes, stunned, as Eggsy kisses him tenderly, far more than he would have expected had he expected it, and with a heartbreaking uncertainty. He can't have _that_ , Harry decides, and curls a hand in Eggsy's hair to draw him closer, parting his lips. Eggsy smiles into the kiss.


End file.
